Page 40 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
This was different; Isabella did not think shewasin love with Edward. That would surely come later. But shedidhave feelings for him—feelings she had expressed in the moment of their kiss—and those feelings were hurt and confused by his behaviour that day.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Isabella said, but Augusta shook her head.
“I’m not upset. Not at all. It’s just…well, I regret my marriage. I regret not falling in love when I was young—the experience of it, the ups and downs, the delights of courtship. I always imagined it to be a magical time—it’s what you do when you’re young, imagine growing up and getting married.
But my marriage to Grenville was arranged, and that was that. I’ve never known romance,” she said, and Isabella could not help but feel terribly sorry for Augusta, who deserved all the happiness in the world, for she was the most delightful of creatures.
They had reached the ha-ha now, and below them, sheep were grazing on the heather-clad moorland. Isabella looked back towards the house, the sun mellowing the red brick of the gables and a large wisteria blossoming over the hothouse.
Had she not been so unsettled by Edward’s behaviour, Isabella would surely have thought it the most delightful place in the world—apart from Burlington Grange, of course. But Edward’s behaviour had caused her to question herself, and she feared she had unwittingly angered him.
“I know you’ll find a match, Augusta. You should go to London for the Season. Don’t let me hold you back. I mean it. You and Edward—it’s high time I went home,” Isabella said, for she did not feel she could remain at Howdwell Heights if the viscount now regretted what had passed between them.
Augusta smiled and looked at Isabella sympathetically.
“Oh, I don’t know—it’s not that I need a husband. Perhaps I’m better off without one,” she said, but Isabella shook her head.
“I’m sure there’re dozens of men who’d court you. What about Benjamin Bradford—the Baron of Longley?” she asked, and Augusta laughed.
“Him? That rake. I don’t think so. No, Isabella. If I’m going to marry again, I’m going to be very discerning in my choice. It certainly won’t be one of Edward’s friends,” Augusta replied, blushing a little as she spoke.
“But wasn’t there ever someone? I don’t mean Grenville. I mean someone you were in love with,” Isabella asked, even as she wondered if she was prying too far into Augusta’s affairs.
Isabella had never talked like this before. She had never had another woman in whom to confide her questions, and she was intrigued as to what it was to fall in love.
“Well, there was someone…but it hardly matters now. He…oh, I don’t want to talk about it. It upsets me,” Augusta said, taking out her handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes.
Isabella felt guilty for having asked, and she changed the topic of conversation, commenting on the flowerbeds on the far side of the lawn. The two women walked in the gardens for an hour or so, and Isabella was relieved to at last have found her freedom, even as she felt somewhat trapped by the feelings she had developed for the viscount. It was all very curious, and as they returned to the house, Isabella was of two minds whether to stay or leave.
You can’t just run away. Not after everything they’ve done for you,she told herself, realizing it would be churlish to do so—not to mention, rude.
“I think I’ll spend the rest of the day in the library,” Isabella said when she and Augusta came to part ways after their walk.
“I’ll write some letters, then I’ll have a rest. The warmth of the day makes me so tired,” Augusta said, and she went upstairs, leaving Isabella outside the library door.
I’ve got to stay. I can’t leave,Isabella reasoned to herself.
She owed the viscount her thanks, even as she feared the awkwardness of their next encounter, and now she made her way into the library, intending to read until dinner that evening.
***
“Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
